deepundergroundpoetry.com
MOM'S CONFESSION
I’ve got to say this now or forever regret
I’ve been a lady fair, a beauty to adore
The men who turned me on best know
How crescent was my pleasure zone
I admit my cleavage tore homes
Married men seduced came rolling
I don’t wanna talk about full hips
Or a great ass so easily recognized
Even at 90 though full of contours
The men who knew me would best tell
Screaming my name an ironical twist
I knew not one man who never bore his face
Senselessly lusting, Ministers, Presidents alike
French, English, Yellow, Red whatever race
Coloured men begging to be fed
Oh I say verily I had them all
My lips tasted of lavenders so sweet
With a simple kiss I turned my victims
Into bridled Solomons , constant calls
To make sure no prey was around
Now my son I must say to you
The three mansions to you I leave
The BMW, Toyota, Mercedes
Every car of all styles, all yours
Only one thing I carry with me
A confession I must not make
Yet I feel your pain so deep
Forcing me thus to say this
I know not who your father is.
Son do search among the hundred pics in my closet, surely one must be your father
I’ve been a lady fair, a beauty to adore
The men who turned me on best know
How crescent was my pleasure zone
I admit my cleavage tore homes
Married men seduced came rolling
I don’t wanna talk about full hips
Or a great ass so easily recognized
Even at 90 though full of contours
The men who knew me would best tell
Screaming my name an ironical twist
I knew not one man who never bore his face
Senselessly lusting, Ministers, Presidents alike
French, English, Yellow, Red whatever race
Coloured men begging to be fed
Oh I say verily I had them all
My lips tasted of lavenders so sweet
With a simple kiss I turned my victims
Into bridled Solomons , constant calls
To make sure no prey was around
Now my son I must say to you
The three mansions to you I leave
The BMW, Toyota, Mercedes
Every car of all styles, all yours
Only one thing I carry with me
A confession I must not make
Yet I feel your pain so deep
Forcing me thus to say this
I know not who your father is.
Son do search among the hundred pics in my closet, surely one must be your father
Published 3rd Sep 2015
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3rd Sep 2015 11:04am
3rd Sep 2015 9:57pm
I can see this play on Maury show hehe... wonderful creative ink victoria... keep flowing that fire
3rd Sep 2015 10:05pm
Your word choice intrigues me; while some give the impression of a woman in the 1800s, the mention of cars suggests a more modern period
Anonymous
4th Sep 2015 6:55am
I admire this woman's brazen confession. Even the guilt of not being able to tell her child who his father is, is languidly cast into a photographic collection of possibilities. Such is the recollection of the fading courtesan.
